


In Which Jack Has Terrible Taste in Both Humor and Music

by galacticdrift (Ancalime)



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime/pseuds/galacticdrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ZR Secret Santa fic for thewondersmith, who requested "Jack and Eugene prior game, when they're getting to know one another. Especially if it involves arguing over music and stuff."</p><p>Just what it says on the tin!</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Jack Has Terrible Taste in Both Humor and Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewondersmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewondersmith/gifts).



"We should -- I don't know, get acquainted." Eugene was the one to break the silence, when their companionable trek had been uninterrupted by zombies for a whole five straight minutes.

Jack glanced over and saw embarrassment on Eugene's face. End of the bloody world and he had to trip over -- well, be tripped over by -- someone this awkward.

"What do you do? Did you do." Jack frowned at the ground.

"I'm a journalist." Eugene said.

"Oh! So dangerous situations, war-torn African countries, and all that? No wonder you were so calm about the zombie apocalypse." Jack grinned a little, reassured.

He looked embarrassed. Again. "No, not quite. I'm a _food_ journalist." A short laugh.

"I don't even do that much travel usually, but I pitched my boss this idea about pop-up restaurants in different regions and how the trend is evolving based on local culture--" He chuckled, and broke off. "And, you don't care that much, I'm sure. Anyway, most dangerous situation I've ever been in was probably when I ate pufferfish."

"Ooh. Was it delicious?"

"It was all right." Eugene eyed the road around them. "Can't imagine eating it now, though. Somehow raw flesh doesn't have the same appeal these days, you know?"

Jack made a face, then his eyebrows rose as a though struck him. "Ever eaten brains? Aren't cow brains or monkey brains or whatever a delicacy?"

Eugene nodded, face a little pale, voice a little thin. "Can we...not talk about it? Please?"

"You're like a hipster zombie. You ate brains before it was popular." Jack was delighted at this development, right up until Eugene dropped his hockey stick and ran for the bushes, retching on the verge of the road.

"Sorry, man, sorry. I could help myself. I didn't mean to-- I'll just stay over here and keep an eye out for zoms, all right?"

 

\---

 

"Joy Division."

Jack scoffed. "Of course. What do you think I am, some kind of philistine?"

Eugene paused, his mouth hanging open, having abandoned whatever it was he was going to say. Jack scowled. "Don't answer that."

He didn't really want to know if Eugene the Canadian Food Journalist thought he was a philistine. He figured it was inevitable anyway. To have it confirmed would just be one more mark against him in the tally of reasons why Eugene the Canadian Food Journalist was never going to sleep with him, even though Jack might as well have literally been the last man on earth.

"Okay, okay! Your turn."

"Don't. Laugh."

"I won't laugh." Eugene held up his right hand, mock-solemn expression on his face.

"Ke$ha."

"What, that-- the one with all the glitter?"

"That very one."

"Seriously?" Eugene's voice nearly squeaked as it rose. His face scrunched up and Jack could see the glimmer in his eyes as he wrestled with his self-control and managed not to laugh.

"Have you ever actually listened to her music?"

"...No, I haven't."

"There you go, then. How do you even know if you like her music or not?"

There were volumes contained in Eugene's look.

 

\---

 

"Jack."

"Yes, Eugene?" They were huddled together for warmth and security on the third floor of a little bed and breakfast out in the countryside. Jack had taken to picking up iPods from the corpses they came across and checking their music, and now he had a small collection of them stashed away in his pack.

"Did you get this iPod from a thirteen-year-old girl or something?" Jack could hear Eugene forcing the lightness and levity into his voice.

"No." He drew it into about three syllables. "Why?"

"Why are we listening to Call Me Maybe?"

"...Because I happen to _like_ Call Me Maybe?"

"Jack?"

"Yes, Eugene?"

"So is this _your_ iPod, then?" Jack thought he heard something beneath Eugene's levity, but didn't realize that it was outright deviltry until too late.

"As a matter of fact, it is. Hey!" Eugene had grabbed the iPod and was scrolling through the entries, rolling away from him, his shoulders shaking with amusement. Jack sprawled on top of him and reached for the iPod, but not too aggressively. Eugene was warm and squishy.

"Celine Dion? Taylor Swift? I can't even read this, is this Japanese? Is this _J-pop_? Really, Jack?" Eugene was practically giggling now.

"Shut up." Jack rested his face on Eugene's back, his voice muffled.

"Jack?"

"Yes, Eugene?" Jack was very patient and long-suffering and made sure his tone reflected that fact.

"Are _you_ a thirteen-year-old girl?" Jack punched him in the shoulder, looking up just in time to catch the flash of his grin in the dark.


End file.
